The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1)

by Yvette, Miriam

  I have no choice. The only way I can confirm anything about that night is through Dr. Graham. His contact number lit the screen on my phone. When I dialed his number, he answered that second. Shocked by his immediate response, I pretended to have a sore throat and asked him for any homemade remedies. After he trailed away with ginger tea and honey, I courageously ask him about the meteor shower two weeks ago. He answered by asking me if Bambi’s mother was still alive. I paused, hoping he was just teasing and would later continue, but he didn’t. We hung up afterwards.

  The incoming breeze in the living room window became awfully cold. The October weather has no mercy, the lack of heat pinches your skin and makes you itchy. I covered my enlarged breasts with my wool blanket and went to shut the window. Before closing, I stopped to gaze at the Okanogan Forest. My morning have been spent staring at the north end of the forest, I recollect my memories of the meteorite, the trail of blood, and the haunting voice crying out to me.

  Fall became unusually depressing. With daylight saving time ending within a few weeks, the premature night grew so depressing, I started to sleep with the lights on. Sometimes I wished I had someone to talk and share my experiences with, but growing friendships this far is nearly impossible. Day by day a layer of low-spirited thoughts began to occupy my mind. What if something really needed my help and I left them to die in the forest? I didn’t even call the authorities, now I feel nothing but shame. I have turned into a guilt-ridden coward, a murderer.

  31st of October

  36 weeks pregnant

  The cold sailing wing picked up, for shelter, I snuggled underneath my blanket. Thanks to my portable heater, the porch is still my favorite spot. My cup of hot chocolate could no longer warm my icy hands, it hasn’t for a while.

  It’s Halloween, but nobody will be knocking on my door for candy. Still, that didn’t keep me from buying candy, who wouldn’t when the aisles are filled with the smell of sugary sweets!

  November is just a day a way, and I can already see the drastic weather change Dr. Graham predicted. The temperature has dropped significantly, unlike the conifer trees, the colorful red and yellow bearing leaves are becoming barren.

  I looked at the north woods, now skeptic. Kinoki roamed around the yard, delighted to be a cat. She chased the leaves as a sport. Without any warning, I received a kick to my insides, I groaned and shifted myself. As my baby finally settled in, a scary feeling crawled over me—I will be a mother soon. Since the day I left California, surviving my pregnancy was my goal—not once did I think of my role of being a mother.

  I’m nothing like the confident women who smile at themselves in the mirror of the public restrooms. Looking at people in the eye took a lot of effort—much less smile at them. I have flaws, and no strengths I can be proud of. Now I’m going to raise a child on my own. My mother did a terrible job raising me, or maybe she didn’t, and I’m ungrateful. A question I shoved in my past surfaced.

  Did my mother ever wished for me to be genuinely happy? I wonder what she’s doing right now. I wonder if she mentions my name to anyone. I grabbed a Fuji apple from the fruit basket, my teeth grinded on the fiber skin and I drank its sweet juice. A doe cautiously traced across the front yard, her fawn followed behind, young and hopeful for the winter ahead.

  My vigilance over the north end of the forest, has never ended. Not a day has gone by where I didn’t think of the meteorite, the blue flames, and the trail of blood. I tortured myself with questions by answering them with more questions.

  As the days followed, my sense of peace was becoming paralyzed. When I leave the cabin and visit the town, the thoughts of the crater follow me. I once spent an entire day asking the locals about the meteor shower in September. Everywhere I went: the gas station, the clothing store, grocery store, and even Dr. Graham’s receptionist! Nobody raised an eyebrow and said “Oh yeah! I also saw that strange meteor shower in September!” Instead they asked me if it was a movie. Of course, Dr. Graham’s receptionist didn’t try to answer my questions. Traumatized by our last meeting, she stopped chatting with me about things that didn’t relate to her job—I have my swift hand to blame.

  My afternoon chores began. I dragged the trash bag to the back door of the kitchen. Today the sky has remained clear, free of blemishes. Unlike the front yard, the back exit in the kitchen is aligned with shrubs and pine trees, a small stone path led to the garbage cans. I always brought my shotgun with me when it was trash day. A bear could hide in those shrubs and I wouldn’t know it. My body ached, with this baby gaining its remaining weight, I felt more worn out with each passing day.

  The days grew unbearable, something didn’t feel right. My mind no longer felt like my own, I feel like I’m losing a part of me. Maybe living in the wilderness has finally taken a toll.

  "Kinoki!" I called out.

  I searched for her in the kitchen, and heard her paws coming downstairs.

  “We can’t stay here.” I told her.

  Kinoki watched me approach her, her perky ears went flat and she stepped back from me.

  “Kinoki? Come here.” I said, with uneasiness.

  Kinoki replied with a deep growl. She has never behaved this way towards me.

  I’m no different than those characters authors write about. Living in a cabin in the wilderness and suddenly going insane, maybe I’ll be killed by some ghost, or worst—a zombie.

  “We both know what we saw in the forest.” I told my troubled cat. “I think for a day or two we should check in at a hotel.”

  The night settled, my clothes were neatly folded for tomorrow. I brushed my teeth as Kinoki who usually accompanies me is spending her time downstairs. Lately, she’s been acting different, she’s no longer interested in her usual routines. When I called her to come to bed, she only passed by the hall to see I was there and left. I covered myself under the blanket and tried to forget anything strange happened. I turned off the lights from my nightstand and settled in bed. A tired body pulled me from my focus to think, and for once, I gave in and drifted into sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alone

  “As soon as I touched the ground, I felt an urge to be on alert”

  Being swallowed up by the darkness, doesn’t feel like a dream, it feels real. Gravity held a tight grasp on my body, and pulled me down into nothingness. I sunk like I was in a pool of black water, my hair drifted with no gravity to pull it down. My attention went to my plaid night gown. This is exactly what I wore before going to bed, so this is a dream. My body turned to adjust itself on a soft, smooth surface. I balanced on my own two feet, where this zero like gravity subsided, my hair fell and I can finally stand.

  As soon as I touched the ground, I felt an urge to be on alert—ready to run from danger. I have this lingering feeling that this darkness may be occupied by its nameless minions. I caught a pair of eyes on my peripheral, but when I turned to see it, it disappeared. I feel uneasy in this dream, empty, and deprived. Then I remembered the purpose of my dream—one I couldn’t control no matter how aware I am in my dream state. I’m searching for something. I looked around the pitch black room, again, an unwavering feeling wouldn’t leave me. There is something I’m looking for, and I must find it! I wandered to the left of the abyss and then to the right, it’s not here. The heart throbbing feeling resembled the experience when you forget your wallet at the grocery store.

  Searching isn’t important—just what am I looking for?

  Maybe I lost my cell phone. Or did I lose my car keys? Don’t tell me I forgot to turn off the oven again! Cold sweat began to drip off my forehead, my breath’s steaming out of my lungs like vapor. Unsure of what I’m meant to look for, I continued to look around. My bare feet paced into nothingness. The heat grew worse, it’s just as bad as the hot temperature in the cabin, it was that night when—

  A whimper entered like a breeze, echoing around me.

  I’m not alone.

  “Hello?” I whispered.

  I said one word and a vu
lgar white smoke ascended beneath my feet. Thick white paint started to drip above the black sky, it drizzled enveloping the black walls. I raised my arms to cover my eyes from the light that swallowed every inch of darkness. This is as bad as staring directly at the sun. After my eyes adjusted, I found myself surrounded by a thick fog. I squinted into the thick mist, I can’t see, and here I thought the dark abyss was worse. The light and fog are just as bad.

  In the white mist, I walked ahead, hoping for a way out. I started to notice tall shadow peeking through the fog. The details resemble that of a large tree—an oak tree. This one stood sluggish, the branches curved to the floor, almost like the tree has reached its life expectancy. Not only is it strange that a tree could sprout out of marbled floor, just looking at it made me uncomfortable. When I got closer, the fog between us thinned. This rubbery structure of a tree became is damaged, the roots of the trunk have a hollow opening. It must have grown deformed in its youth or maybe it had a deficiency as a sapling. My toes cringed when I caught a moving figure.

  A dark splotch sat on the ground. Silently, I took a step back hoping I remain unnoticed. While I continuously retraced my steps—the blotch is starting to whimper. It’s the same cry from earlier—muffled, and suppressed. I pressed my hands over my swollen belly, hopping my baby doesn’t hear the rattling in my heart. The dark figure began to mutter, then, it reformed into depressing moans. The warped voice cleared, and lighten—it’s a little girl. When I approached her, I came to a sensible stop.

  Half of her body hid inside the cavity of the oak’s trunk. Her legs were tucked under her arms, and her face snuggled between her knees. Her dark hair wrapped any glimpse of her face, the length went down to her shoulders, where I noticed her nakedness.

  I snapped out of my absent mind, realizing I need to find a way out. I called out to her. The girl didn’t respond, she went on whimpering, and mumblings. Slowly, I bent forward and asked her why she was crying.

  Her shoulders tremble like she was scared and yet she couldn’t hear me. I coughed and cleared my throat, hoping I would startle her, but she only sobbed.

  "Are you hurt?" I said warmly. “Or are you lost—because I’m lost as well.”

  The girl’s trembling froze. She released herself from her fetal position and slowly pulled herself out of the hollow trunk. She sat straight as a ruler, her back facing me. She sat solid—statue like, the mumblings now gone.

  “Hello?” I squeaked.

  Time has stopped for her, or so it appears to be. I leaned close and placed my hand on her shoulder. I gave her a gentle squeeze. Her body is warm, she’s alive for that matter. But her body didn’t respond to my touch. This kid is really starting to freak me out.

  "What’s your name?" I asked.

  Not a single word came out, not even a movement. When I leaned to look at her—and she suddenly shrieked.

  I immediately stepped back.

  “Don’t…look at me.” she whispered.

  “Okay, I won’t.” I replied. “I just want to know if you’re okay.”

  “Yes?” she asked—implying a question.

  That’s a weird way to respond.

  “You’re not hurt?” I asked.

  “No. Well…a little bit. My chest—it hurts!”

  “May I take a look at you?”

  “No!” she yelped.

  My nosy questions terrified, she laid her head back on her knees and resumed the fetal position. I slapped my palm on my forehead for my stupidity. There’s no way I’m going to get out of this place, let alone calm this crying kid.

  "There’s nothing for you to be upset about." I said.

  “Yes there is.” she sniffed. “It won’t solve my problem.”

  “And what problem would that be?” I probed.

  “They’re mean to me.” she cried. “They don’t want me, nobody wants me. It’s my fault though, I lost a part of me, and I don’t know where I lost it.”

  For a second, I felt like it was something I would say as a child. Maybe this is a persona of my childhood. We both lost something in this dream, and we can’t seem to find it.

  “What did you lose?” I asked.

  She didn’t reply, but her head jerked.

  “Maybe you took it!” she barked. “’You took it didn’t you!”

  “That’s not fair.” I said. “I don’t even know what you lost.”

  Somehow, she realized I was right and started crying once again, her assumptions are fallacious and it converted her back into the hopeless child she is.

  “I don’t think I can help you either.” I added. “I’m lost myself.”

  Her face turned sideways, as if someone had called her name. Seeing the side of her face gave me a small detail of her full lips, with a strong curve on the middle. Finally she rose to her feet, and her hair fell along her shoulders. She looks no taller than a 7 year old. Her round cheeks have been glowing from her wet tears. Her face is still a mystery, completely covered by her long dark hair. I looked behind to see what she so thoroughly gazed at.

  “They’re coming.” she whispered. “They’re looking for me, and they’re looking for it!”

  She dashed behind the oak tree, exposing her naked body.

  “Hurry!” she yelled. “Run!”

  She ran into the fog—disappearing within seconds. Like a potted plant, I remained where I stood, unsure of the commotion she made. I looked back and saw nothing—nothing except the sound of footsteps.

  Heavy boots began to slap against the floor, they squeaked from what could be an old pair. I look for someone to appear but not even a silhouette approached me. The floor is a different story, it’s exactly what I suspected—a muddy pair of men’s boots. The pair walked by themselves, they paced around me, with no human to wear them. The steps do sound heavy—like someone is currently wearing them. When I tried to move away, the boots became aggressive, it began run faster and faster around me.

  I leaped over the pair and dashed towards the oak tree. The boots followed, clapping behind with speed. I yelped, and ran around the tree, but the boots followed. Then the sound went away, I stopped to catch my breath. The haunted pair of boots have disappeared. The whimper of the little girl returned.

  “It’s okay.” I called out. “The creepy boots are gone!”

  She must have liked the news because her crying has stopped.

  “Where are you?” I said looking through the thick fog.

  "Whyyyyy—?”

  I turned around, she’s behind me.

  "Whyyyyy—?”

  Her words stretched like a rubber band, the y ended with a vocal crack. Her head slanted, she silently examined me. I think it’s time for me to wake up.

  I slapped myself across the cheek, nothing. I pinched my arm, nada. I’m stuck with this eerie girl and this foggy hell hole.

  “Why?” she continued. “Why?”

  I stepped away, and shut my eyes—hoping I can wake up soon. When I opened them, I remained in this dream, but the little girl has disappeared.

  “Why?” she continued. “Why?”

  Her voice is clear, like she’s in front of me, but I don’t see her. I clenched my fist in hopes of swinging at anything that will come within my sight.

  “Calm down Lola.” I said out loud. “You can’t punch little girls.”

  I pinched my arm again, and told myself to wake up. My efforts are useless. When the whimpering returned, I found the girl on the floor. The oak tree somehow vanished in the fog, but that didn’t keep her from wrapping herself into a ball. Her shoulders jumped with hiccups, her body has worn itself out from her constant crying. Deep inside, I feel bad for her. I have also curled into a ball and cried throughout my childhood, and even as a woman. This girl needs me help, if I help her, I should be able to wake up.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  "Why!" she exclaimed. “Why!”

  I stepped back—her cry is no longer innocent. Her breathing grew full of rage, and grunting after exhaling. Again, the g
irl rose to her feet, and turned to me. Her bare feet slapped the floor with each step. I marched backwards, hopping the fog would cover me from seeing her, but how ironic that the fog is just starting to vanish.

  Her wavy long hair dangled like a chandelier, it swung over her knees. Her eyes remained completely covered. Her behavior makes no sense, nor does the absence of the oak tree, or this hellish place going from black to white. With the fog gone, I now see how impossible this dream has become. I’m in an empty plane of white marbled floor, the horizon itself is white, no sun or blue sky within sight. My throat started to tighten, I touched my neck and I felt two hands tightly chocking me.

  “Where is it?!” she wailed.

  “Stay back—!” I chocked.

  She advanced forward.

  “Don’t you know what I’m looking for?” she replied surprised.

  “No—” I cried. “I don’t!”

  She reached for two thick portions of hair covering her chest. Her small hands moved them apart like a curtain. My eyes locked, incapable to look away. Her chest exposed a large hole, where the remaining mist travelled through the opening. I couldn’t keep my screams to myself.

  "Where did it go—” she wailed. “Have you seen it—did you take it?"

  Blood is still dripping around the cavity of her chest, like it was freshly cut open.

  “My heart!” she cried. “What happened to my heart!”